The preschool at our church is in a building separate from the main church built specifically to house the kids. The class for two year olds, however, is in the main church. So every Monday, when it’s C.’s turn to go to class, we drop off M., circle around to the church, and I walk her inside. Yesterday we walked into the church and C. was her normal chipper self, jumping and cheering in anticipation of seeing her teachers and friends.
I pretty much gave up on tonight’s game as soon as Fat Sid let the Indians recapture the lead in the third. As I was washing dishes, sweeping, getting laundry going, etc., I heard the Indians start to put the Royals away. Good decision. I did hear an epically bad comment from Bob Davis, though. I’ve never been a very big Bob Davis fan, despite listening to him do KU games for 20+ years.
A couple links related to parenthood. First, a funny list by the father of a young daughter. I think about stuff like this all the time. Conversations I'll someday have with my daughter that will make little to no sense to her no matter how much I try to explain Second, I liked this post on ShysterBall about buying a son his first real baseball cap. It got me thinking about how I've not pushed my sports teams on my kids.
Baseball is a funny game. You win some. You lose some. Sometimes it rains. Or something like that. As the only major sport that features series during the regular season, it also offers something unique to the game: a team can win a series, but if they blow the finale in spectacular fashion, it can seem like they actually lost the series. Sunday I was only able to casually follow the Royals game.
Finally an off day, so seems like a good time to take a look at the team and what they’ve accomplished thus far. Truly a bummer that Alex Gordon is going under the knife. I sent an angry e-mail out Tuesday night suggesting he might need a stint in Omaha in the hopes it would kick start his career the way it did for Mark Teahen in ‘06 and Billy Butler last year.
I’ve obviously been a little remiss of late. We’re going through some phase changes here, and you know how phase changes can throw me. Throw in a few days with decent weather* and I’ve not been attending to my blogging responsibilities. So some random stuff to get us back on track. (Our weather has been mostly shitty, though.) Despite the news leaking Monday morning that Aldrich and Collins would probably be returning to KU, I was still a little shocked when it A) came down and B) both said they never asked for information from the NBA on where they might go in the draft.
They’re coming back. Let the hype begin. All that 2008 afterglow stuff will be out the window when college basketball season rolls around in November. Baring major injury anything less than a return trip to Indy next April will be a disappointment. I think my stomach is already starting to hurt.
This probably needs more editing, but it’s almost 10 pm Monday night and I should probably get it posted. And I have a cold, so I might do more damage than help to it if I start hacking. This is the least angsty, upset, depressed I’ve ever been after a season-ending loss. You know most of the reasons; I’ve been repeating them all season. But I think actually being at the game helped, too.
A brief American Top 40 The 80s update.* (Don’t worry, an extensive basketball post is coming.) This week’s show was from 1981, making it the first repeat year countdown since I began listening in January. It was fun to track where songs I heard six weeks ago were in the latest chart. At least for this amateur music historian. Two things struck me. First, I have no memory of Blondie’s “Rapture” when it was on the charts.
There’s a slew of stories about the 1979 NCAA title game right now. Linked below is the one that appears in today’s Indy Star. My favorite quote is clipped as well, and it’s one that appears in some form in most of the articles, books, and specials about the game. I like it because it reminds us of how much the world and sports has changed in the past 30 years.
Another for my Father Of The Year file. A few set up points to begin this story. First, C. has lost all interest in potty training over the past month. She had been using the toilet once a day or so but lately not at all. Second, L. woke up around 5:30 Thursday morning, and after a bottle and diaper change was wide-awake and ready to play rather than ready to go back to sleep for a couple more hours.
In March, there are no beauty points, nor any to reason to apologize for advancing. Nor does the regular season, comparing scores and schedules, RPI-based method of deciding who is better come into play. The team that looks awesome one night puts up a dud the next and gets sent home. Winning ugly is better than the alternative. To say this was one of KU’s least impressive performances in recent tournaments would be fair.
We’re six weeks into our workout sessions with our trainer. Seems like a good time for an update, no? Up until this week, we were meeting with our trainer once each week. He’d come with a plan put together for the week, guide us through the workout, selecting settings on machines that were appropriate for our sizes and weights that fit our abilities. At the end of the workout, we got a sheet with all the exercises and related info on it to use until our next session.
After taking a look at my picks, I’m hating myself. Despite my belief that the Big East is a little overrated this year - still the best league, but can we stop the slobbering? - I have three Big East schools in the Final Four. And two more in the Elite Eight. Blech. As I look at the brackets, this feels like one of those wide-open tournaments that comes along every so often.
Well that sucked. Losing to the biggest phonies in the conference stings. So maybe that game in Lubbock wasn’t a fluke. Sherron looks a little hefty and tired. Cole struggles against anyone shorter and faster than him. You hate to be hearing the term “stress reaction” on a guy that big this time of year. I actually thought a lot of the other guys played decent but when the big two struggle…
M. has finally mastered the Knock Knock joke. It took some help from mom, but she can now say two jokes correctly: the old stand bys “Orange” and “Boo.” This is a big deal because since she first discovered Knock Knock jokes a year ago, she’s kind of missed the point. Here’s an example of a 2008 M. Knock-Knock joke. M.: “Knock knock!” Me: “Who’s there?” M.: “Pink flower.” Me: “Um, pink flower who?
“What are the girls saying these days?” you ask. I share below. I hope I’m not giving C. a complex. She has a small group of words that she pronounces incorrectly. She also has kind of a funny little voice, so when she makes her mispronunciations, it makes me laugh. And then I repeat them back to her, in a silly voice. Something tells me this is going to come back to haunt me when we have to pay for her therapy someday.
I owe my fellow music geeks some AT40 updates. So a couple items from the last two weeks are below. Last week’s show was from 1986. I only caught the last 15 songs or so, and it was a rather unremarkable collection of music. Sure, I loved a lot of the songs at the time, but with the exception of The Dream Academy’s “Life In A Northern Town,” none are songs I still have any fondness for.
Another effect of being on Facebook: I sometimes forget to post things to the blog. I’ll do a Facebook update and think I’ve covered a topic, when all I did was offer up a blurb that demanded a more in-depth accounting here. Here’s one story I should have shared with you. The last game I covered was a girls game two weeks ago. I made the short journey to the high school where Eric Montross, Greg Oden, and Michael Conley all played their high school ball.
It’s been a few months since I finally became an active member of Facebook. Based on my discussions with a few of you, my odd reaction to the experience is not one unique to me. It’s just a strange thing. First, there is the reconnecting with people you haven’t talked to in ages. Here are some of the people I’ve friended in recent weeks: A guy who was probably my closest friend from fourth through eight grades, but had not talked to since 1990 or so.